


A Single Plant

by owlbsurfinbird



Series: Choose Your Own Garden Adventure [3]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James was miffed, yes, miffed, that Laura and Robbie could pack up and leave Oxford—and leave him and Monty!—without much of a second thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Single Plant

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Wendymr for beta and Britpick. Errors that remain are mine.
> 
> "The Plot" --the first story in the series--is the basic beginning. This is one of the possible endings.

_I am thinking of the onion again. ... Not self-righteous like the proletarian potato, nor a siren like the apple. No show-off like the banana. But a modest, self-effacing vegetable, questioning, introspective, peeling itself away, or merely radiating halos like ripples. --Erica Jong, Fruits and Vegetables, 1971_

James thumbed through the box of folders on his counter. He recalled taking notes when he was first assigned to DI Robert Lewis, and now that he was the DI mentoring DS Lizzie Maddox, he was determined to make her education as thorough as his own. He pulled his personal case notes from an arson fire that had caused the death of an elderly woman:

_Arson: multiple points of origin; use of accelerants; a time-delay device (a matchbook cigarette is a 22 minute fuse); containers nearby. Odors are more important to trace than charred wiring. Planned fires designed to have presence of ventilation, combustible material, and sometimes accelerant. Heat estimated by the condition of window glass: small shards of glass means an explosion took place; "crazing" means a hot fire. Melted copper, aluminum, and other metals: accelerant was used. Soot that wipes off easily from glass or slightly charred studs behind the walls means a quick fire._

Lewis says: Disgruntled ex-employees, ex-renters, transients, and juveniles are the usual suspects.

He jotted down a few specifics that he imagined she hadn't had in her officer training. She no longer surprised him by knowing odd forensics facts: he'd discovered she had a passion for hard crime novels and that she regularly went for drinks with friends in SOCO. She was hard-working, bright, and she'd make a good DI in time. He wanted to make sure she was prepared.

Everyone needs to be prepared for change and growth.

"I have news," Laura had said, two months ago, and there was still a lingering—not resentment, not exactly. He quickly checked an online thesaurus trying to find a better word to indicate mild annoyance. He was miffed, yes, miffed, that Laura and Robbie could pack up and leave Oxford—and leave him and Monty!—without much of a second thought.

Though he knew that wasn't the case, of course. It had been sudden, however, and he'd barely had time with them before they were off. He set the laptop aside and picked up the cat.

He had turned down their offer to live in the house as it wasn't convenient to work. They were storing their things and renting it out for the year they were in California.

James scratched behind Monty's ears before setting him aside so that he could pick up his laptop. The cat seemed to know a conversation with his master was in the offing: he stayed beside James on the couch, waiting.

James opened Skype and set up the shot using the laptop camera so that Monty was in it. He waited. His laptop pinged as it did at this time every week.

"Hey, James. Oh, Monty. Have you been a good boy?"

"Me or Monty?" James asked, sarky. Robbie looked well, Laura sat at his side. She seemed—

"Laura, are you sunburned?"

She gave a sheepish grin. "Bit. Barbeque in the afternoon, party on the beach at night. Robbie has a tale to tell about it."

Robbie rolled his eyes. "They were fire walking—the whole lot of them."

"Seriously? Walking on hot coals?"

"Ritual mortification, apparently. No one except the faculty does it."

"That's—barbaric."

"It's California." Laura grinned. "There's a trick to it, of course, which I learned prior to the party."

"I was assuming that it's all just beer and barbeque with Laura's group, right? Then I found they had a stack of wood and petrol—"

"—And a fire permit," Laura interrupted, "most important part."

"Drumming and chanting—"

"—We were chanting the Latin names of the musculature. James, you would have loved it."

"Is there video?"

"Oh, yeah, and there's me, sort of being held back on the sidelines, having a fit because I think she's taken leave of her senses—"

James grinned at this improbable picture: the idea that anyone could restrain Robbie Lewis from the object of his affections. "What happened?"

"I walked across hot coals without a single burn."

"Floated, more likely." James said quietly. "Angelic."

"Of course." Laura smiled. "I knew you'd understand."

"I didn't," groused Robbie. "And then they wouldn't let me try it."

Laura nuzzled his neck. "You don't know all the magic words."

She waited for James to comment, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say. They looked so relaxed, so fit and happy and so, so far away from Oxford. He found himself reaching for the screen and dropped his hand.

"Is this the standard initiation for all who enter the forensics unit?"

"Yes. More to make sure the examiners know the Latin, I think, though it impresses the interns." Laura glanced at Robbie, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Robbie has news. Go ahead."

"I'm doing a bit of consulting."

"You? Well."

"Don't sound so high and mighty, Mr. Clever Clogs. I'm helping with the mysterious death of a British citizen killed on American soil."

"Impressive." And it was. He knew from their last conversation that Robbie was feeling somewhat left out since Laura was working closely with the LAPD in conjunction with the university. Apparently someone had heard that concern. "Did Jean Innocent set that up for you?"

"Yes, and before you get all undone thinking she's doing me a special favor, I'll have you know that I had the training for this long before I even came to the States. Never had occasion to use it, though."

"I would never accuse our Chief Super of favoritism. Especially where you're concerned."

"Cheeky sod. What's going on with you, then? Did you and Lizzie wrap up that Abingdon murder?"

James nodded. "The uncle—"

"—I told you, didn't I tell you?"

The corner of James's mouth curled up. "Yeah, you did. Little thing called 'evidence' was needed, though, Robbie. And yes, we did find it—Lizzie found it, as a matter of fact. Letter to the woman. Turned up when she went through the pockets of the clothes in his wardrobe."

"Men never throw things away properly." Laura said, smiling. "Everything else is well at the station, then?"

He nodded, biting his lower lip. "Yes. Everyone still misses you, of course—both of you. Home Office has finally settled on Murray as a temporary replacement—"

"Christ. Well, you'll never know how anyone died ever again." Robbie interjected.

"—And everyone has realized, yes, exactly that. So Innocent is still working to bring in someone else for the interim. Fair bit of complaining. On the positive side, however, the ballistics team and the technical problem solving unit is doing well."

Laura smirked. "You had lunch with him, didn't you?"

James felt a blush creep up his cheeks, more because he'd taken her advice than for any other reason. He shouldn't have to be cajoled into coming out of his shell a bit. It was expected of him in his new position as an inspector. Laura had been badgering him about the man since he'd returned from his sabbatical. The bloke in the ballistics unit turned out to be just as socially inept as he was—the two of them stumbling all over themselves trying to talk about something outside work without bringing any expectation of anything else into the conversation other than friendship. He sometimes wondered what had happened to the concept of two guys going out for a pint after work just to talk. It had seemed so easy with Robbie.

So he had had lunch with the man in ballistics, yes, and they had a lot in common outside work. Guitar, chess, books. Music. It felt odd to have made a friend in Robbie and Laura's absence—almost as if he was doing them a disservice—but he knew they were making new friends too. Still, it felt strange.

"We miss you," Robbie said quietly. "Miss Monty, too. Can see him there, just on the edge of the—there, thanks for moving your laptop. Hey, you." Robbie raised the pitch of his voice. "Cat. Monty."

Monty looked up at the screen, raised a paw to swipe at Robbie's face.

"Don't want him to forget about me. Nor you."

James huffed a soft laugh. "Could never forget about you. More likely that you'll forget about me, now that you're both living in paradise."

"Hardly paradise," Robbie chuckled. "Takes hours to get from one place to another—the traffic is deadly. Spent an hour trying to find a place to park near the house. Oh, but it's warm. Not humid at all. Just—pleasant. Good thing, too, that we can grow our own veg, saving money there because everything is bloody expensive."

"The sunsets, James," Laura said. "Every night is like a—a—light show. The colors over the water. Have you thought any more about coming at Christmas? We do miss you. And Christmas—"

"—I think I'd miss the cold." James said quietly. "But I'd like to see you. You might think of coming home for Christmas."

Laura shared a look with Robbie. "We'll talk about it, James. We do miss you terribly."

James smiled. "And I you. Both of you. Monty misses you too. Well, best get on. Have a good week. Take care."

"You too, pet," said Robbie just as Laura said, "You too, love."

James clicked off. He pulled up Wikipedia, scanning the information about fire walking before going to the cited references below, preferring original source documents. He knew it was often used as a religious rite or initiation. He'd heard stories along the Camino near Leon about fire-walking on St. John's Eve where the walkers carried someone on their back, risking burning the tops of their feet if they didn't walk carefully.

The important thing was not to rush. Important in most things, actually.

He read that the physiological foundation for collective religious rituals, through the alignment of emotional states, strengthens group dynamics and forges a common identity amongst participants. Makes perfect sense, then, that Laura's work group would choose such a bizarre ritual. She said they were working on strengthening a sense of community between the various large forensics units.

He smiled slightly. Of course she knew that he'd be on the internet immediately to discover the trick.

He'd have to suggest the practice to Jean Innocent, see if it could replace one of her team-building seminars. He smiled slightly, thinking of Peterson confronted with flaming coals—Action Man.

He sighed, missing his guvnor. Former guvnor. Partner. Of course Robbie had been right about their case.

A year is a very long time to be alone. But he'd manage. He always did well on his own. Perhaps he was far enough along on his current caseload so that he could indulge himself. Some light reading or a DVD? He had a hankering lately for—yes, that would do. _The English Patient._

He shut his laptop and regarded the cat. "Let's have dinner and a movie."

Monty purred in agreement.

++++++++++++++


End file.
